


This will Leave you Breathless

by darter_blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Chef Castiel (Supernatural), College Student Castiel, College Student Dean, Coming Out, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mechanic Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 16:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12236481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darter_blue/pseuds/darter_blue
Summary: Dean Winchester doesn't have a bad life, but he can't say he's ever been happy. Something, some indefinable thing, has always felt like it was missing. He decides that, now that he is a grown up, almost done with college, about to escape the constant bickering of his father and little brother, it's finally time to find out what that something might be.That's when Dean meets Castiel Novak, and suddenly he knows just exactly what's been missing.OrThe one where Dean gets all flustered and tongue-tied and Cas thinks it's absolutely adorable...And bakes him a PieThis is for the Destiel Modern AU Challenge.From the prompt: A chef, a pen, ‘I don't need any sleep’





	1. Chapter One

Dean did remember what it felt like to be loved, unconditionally. His mother had loved him that way. Being wrapped up in her soft warmth had felt safe, it was home, but his mom was gone and Dean hadn’t felt that way for a very long time.

 

It’s not that Dean’s life was bad, by any stretch. His little brother, Sam, would probably love him like that one day. At the moment, though, he was sixteen, and his default setting was fixed to ‘asshole’. His Dad, loved… well, tolerated him. Appreciated that Dean was there to lighten the load, for sure. And girls were, well, girls were always interested. He had the football physique working for him, and the freckles (gross, who even likes freckles, really) and the pretty boy face that his buddies never let him forget about (he wished they’d shut up about it already, Jesus). So yeah, girls were easy. They just didn’t really make him happy.

 

So that was the problem really, Dean’s life was good, but he’d never felt happy. And at twenty years old, he felt like maybe it was a good time to try and find out how to get there.

 

‘Dean, I need like, an enormous favour.’

He’s on the phone to Lisa. Lisa is pretty cool, they tried the whole dating thing and it kind of fizzled out, but they had a good time together, so it made sense to stay friends. It was nice to have good friends on campus. Someone he could complain to when his lecturers were being dicks, or to study with who wouldn’t endlessly try to redirect him to a bar (Benny was good people, but he drank wa-ay too much)

‘Lisa, goodmorning to you too.’

‘Ha,ha, Dean. Yes, good morning, how are you? How’s the fam? How’s class? blah blah blah. Listen, I need a favour.’ So yeah, Lisa was also sometimes a pain in the ass.

‘Yeah, okay, what’s the favour?’

‘Um, well there’s this guy on the swim team-’

‘Oh, god-’

‘Yeah and I was thinking I might go check out the meet tomorrow morning.’

‘Seriously, Lisa?’

‘And I need someone to come with me.’

‘Swimming’s like, stupid early though, right?’

‘I know, but, I don’t want to go by myself.’

‘No.’

‘Deeeean,’ she says, pulling on the ‘e’

‘No.’

‘Whyyyyy,’ she’s got that whine down pat.

‘Leese, apart from the fact that I have work in the mornings before class,’ Dean tries to soften the blow with a teasing tone, ‘I couldn’t think of anything worse than breathing in toxic fumes while you ogle some guy from the swim team,’ 

‘Yeah okay, fair.’ She gives up, suspiciously without a fight. ‘So make it up to me by coming to the food truck festival on campus with us on Friday.’

‘That was your plan all along, wasn't it?’ Dean asks, long suffering. 

‘Of course not, Dean, I would never.’ And butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. ‘But I could use a friend, I just don’t know this guy that well, and it would make me feel better if you were there.’ He can’t really argue with that. Dean is nothing if not totally devoted to the safety and wellbeing of his friends. 

‘Fine. Fine. I’ll go. But you’re buying!’

‘We’ll see.’ She says. The cheek of her. 

 

It’s May in Houston, so the nights are fucking gorgeous. Dean has finals but he’s worked hard for them and he’s pretty sure he’s got them in the bag. Sam even acknowledged his presence on his way out the door, which is almost a miracle. Dean is in his best jeans and a band T-shirt (ACDC, because they shit all over most bands and had given Dean one glorious night of happiness when they toured - he doesn’t remember that girl's name, the music is what he remembers) that has faded and worn around the arms where it pulls tight (thank you again, football). Lisa is walking hand in hand with some guy from the swim team, but he seems alright. Not a total douche. He’s wearing a button down to impress, and that ticks a box in Dean’s  _ is this guy good enough for Lisa _ checklist. And so far he’s bought them all a kick ass burrito from the mexican cantina truck, so,  _ check _ . He seemed sort of wary of Dean at first, but Dean just pulled him aside to give him the old ‘shovel’ speech and now he thinks Dean is like an overprotective brother. Which he basically is. 

‘So I might go for a walk and find some pie or something,’ Dean begs off to give them some alone time.

‘Oh yeah? They have killer pastries at that french truck, man.’ Lisa’s date (Gavin? Greg?) pipes up.

‘Ha!’ Lisa laughs, like that’s ridiculous. ‘Dean won't accept anything less than pie,’

‘I like pie, what’s wrong with that?’ Dean says, a touch wounded.

‘Nothing,’ she says, still laughing. ‘Just, I’ve had that  _ cake is not pie _ argument with you too many times.’ 

‘Well it’s not!’ He says to their retreating backs as the lovebirds go off to find ice cream. 

‘Trust me,’ G-something-something calls out over his shoulder, ‘Their Beignet’s are fucking sick!’

 

Dean doesn’t actually know what a beignet is, but he’s on this new mission (as of this week, like he said before) to find actual happiness, so he figures it can’t hurt to start looking in places he’s never looked before. He wanders over to the french truck, guessing it’s the one with the french flag art plastered on the side and waits in line for his turn. He see’s beignets on the chalkboard - five for five dollars - and is super glad Lisa’s guy had said the word out loud, otherwise he would have never pronounced it correctly (beh-nhey). By the time Dean reaches the front of the queue, he’s the only one left in line, and he tilts his head back to put in his order and almost stumbles backwards at the sheer brilliance of the blue eyes looking down at him. Not just blue, but bright, and shining, and framed by dark eyelashes, arched brows, a sharp nose, pink, cupids bow lips and a shock of messy dark hair tucked under a cap with the same logo as the truck. The face, the eyes, the hair, all kind of work together to form the single thought in Dean’s mind of ‘fuuuuuck,’ because literally no one in the world has ever punched Dean in the guts just by looking at him before. It’s only made marginally better by the fact that the guy seems sort of dumbstruck in turn. They just stand there staring at each other for about a minute before Dean finds the power to form words again, never mind that it’s a mere, ‘uh…Hi.’

‘Hello,’ says the guy (man? Model? God?), his voice deep and rich, setting off little fireworks in Dean’s stomach that he didn’t even know were dormant there. 

‘Hi,’ Dean says again, mentally facepalming at his total lack of function, ‘uh…’

A second person pops into view next to Dean’s kryptonite personified, presumably to find out what’s taking so long for him to order.

‘What's the hold- hey-ho. Hel-lo!’ The newcomer is much shorter, with lighter hair and an even sharper nose, a pointed chin, and honey coloured eyes, the spark of which belie a sense of mischief. Tall, dark and handsome grabs his friend and pulls him to the back of the truck and out of Dean’s view. Not out of earshot though, apparently. At first he just hears a manic whisper, lovely and deep though it is. Then,

‘No dibs, I was out back, no fair!’ the higher pitch suggests it’s the shorter, lighter, mischief maker. The general sounds of a ruckus follow more frantic whispering and then, ‘ow, Jesus Cas, you punch like the fucking hulk. Alright, okay.’ And a moment later, Cas (Dean assumes is his name) comes back to the window with a tight, slightly embarrassed smile.

‘So,’ he says, straightening his apron, ‘what can I get for you?’

‘Um, I ah, was recommended to try the Beignets?’ God, he is so flustered. How is this happening?

‘Oh yeah?’ Cas’ face lights up, ‘You should, they’re my specialty!’

‘Well, um, alright. I guess...one serve?’

‘Coming right up.’ Cas says with a grin and turns away to prepare the order. When he comes back with them, they turn out to be deep fried pillows of some light fluffy pastry, coated in powdered sugar.

‘Oh I know these,’ Dean says without thinking, ‘my friend Benny loves them - we just call them donuts though.’

‘Blasphemy!’ Cas says with a huff of laughter.

‘I mean, I guess, sorry. He used to eat them all the time in New Orleans, and he tried to make them a few times. They didn’t smell like this though.’ Dean says with a little nod of embarrassed joy. 

‘Well, no disrespect to your friend, but I should hope not!’ Cas replies with an even bigger grin. ‘These are my livelihood. I’ve staked a bit of a reputation on their being the best in town.’

‘You seem to be doing okay.’ Dean says sincerely, ‘you got a pretty glowing recommendation from my friend’s date.’ Cas crosses his arms over his chest and Dean takes a minute to appreciate the curve of his biceps, shaking his head a little to clear it and grasp back to reality. ‘Um, so I should probably leave you to your donuts.’ Dean starts, getting an eyebrow raise from Cas, it’s sly and ruined by the tilt of his lips at their corners. ‘But it was nice to meet you.’ He turns and walks away from the truck, only glancing back once he feels like he’s made a safe distance. Cas is still watching him, raises a hand in farewell and uses the other to take his hat off and run his hands through his hair. It makes Dean swallow with a nameless ache all over but he squashes it down. He can revisit it later, when he’s had time to digest the experience. He waves back though, not wanting to be rude, it’s an almost unconscious gesture. 

 

When he finds his way back to Lisa and Graham (Garry?), he’s already finished the beignets and sucked all evidence of them from his fingers. They were basically the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten.

‘Better than pie?’ Lisa asks when she catches his blissed out expression.

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ he answers, more out of a sense of loyalty to pie than a genuine belief in the fact. ‘Pretty fucking great though.’

‘Right?’ Swim team exclaims, ‘they’re the shit!’

‘Garrett,’ Lisa sighs playfully (Garrett, his name’s Garrett, Dean, remember that) ‘We could have got dessert from there if you wanted.’

‘Yeah,’ he replies wistfully, ‘maybe next time.’

 

Dean thinks briefly about the possibility of seeing Cas again if they come back for a next time (how often do they have these festival’s?) but dismisses the want as confusion. Cas is a guy. Dean doesn’t understand the strength of his reaction. It scares him a little bit, a lot actually, because maybe there’s a giant part of himself he’s been missing his whole life. Could that be why he’s always felt so lost? He makes it home, Lisa staying out with her swimmer after kissing Dean gently on the cheek to say thank you for having her back, trudges up to his room, grunting as he passes his dad and Sam arguing in the kitchen and collapses into bed. He then proceeds to lie awake all night with the fading taste of deep fried, flaky pastry and sugar on his tongue and the fantasy of bright blue eyes, a deep voice and strong arms winding around him, wrapping him up, soft and warm. 

  
  



	2. Chapter Two

It’s monday and Dean is cramming a study session in the Houston Community College Central Library, between work and chores. And of course he’s forgotten his pen. Any pen, in the rush to get here and away from his oppressive household (Sam and his Dad are fighting all the time at the moment).

‘How can you not have one pen on you, Dean Winchester, you’re a pathetic waste of a human.’ He’s muttering to himself as he pulls everything out of his bag and dumps it into the carrel he’s managed to nab. 

‘I don’t think  _ that’s _ true,’ carries a deep whisper from over his shoulder and he turns to find Cas, he of the delicious pastries, invader of Dean’s brain, kryptonite personified, who seems to have worked his magic yet again. The warmer weather (and likely, the Library’s shitty air conditioning) has encouraged Cas into a light blue tank top and dark khaki shorts that hug his legs and end mid thigh. The overwhelming expanse of toned, tanned skin on display is enough to increase Dean’s heart rate perceptibly, so much that he’s sure the sound of it will echo through the hushed library. 

‘Uh...Hi?’ This is now a standard greeting for Dean apparently (although it’s almost a whisper this time), so awkward, he wills the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

‘Hello again.’ Cas says with a grin. It lights up his entire face; straight, white teeth stark against very artfully maintained stubble. 

‘Um, right...Cas, isn’t it?’ Dean stumbles over a polite greeting hoping to deflect from the reality that he has no idea how to handle this situation. Why does the sight of Cas’ crazy bed hair make him want to reach out and touch him? Why does the rise of his collar bone under the wide neck of his tank top have Dean wondering if he tastes as good as he looks? 

‘Yeah,’ Cas says, surprised. His grin slips a little and Dean thinks he might actually look a bit wary. ‘How did you...you could hear us back there the other day?’ He asks, definitely wary. Maybe even a little sheepish.

‘Oh, like, barely.’ Dean answers quickly, hands in pockets, torn between wanting to put Cas at ease (he probably wouldn’t want someone to overhear that he had called dibs on them either) and wanting to see how much further the blush in his skin would reach past his cheeks if pressed. 

‘Yeah, sure.’ Cas doesn’t seem to believe him. ‘Well, since you know  _ my _ name, can I know  _ your _ name?’

‘Oh, yeah. I mean, it’s Dean. I’m Dean.’ Seriously, ground, just open up already. ‘So... Hi.’

Cas laughs, but good naturedly, like he finds Dean endearing, not like he thinks he’s defective. He sticks out his hand and Dean can’t think of a reason not to take it.

‘Well, hello, Dean. It’s nice to meet you.’

‘Yeah.’ Yeah? Jesus, Dean. Say something else. Let go of his hand. Do something, for the love of god. ‘Same. Me too. I mean, you. It’s nice to meet you too. Or to see you? I mean, you look nice.’ Oh god, Dean. Stop talking. ‘Like, without your uniform on.’ No please, stop. ‘I mean, in this outfit, it looks nice.’ Oh sweet baby Jesus, ‘Um, I’m just going to, take my hand back and like, stop talking now…’ Dean can see that Cas’ shoulders are shaking with held back laughter, but then his head is tilted slightly to the right in a seemingly fond gesture, like he’s trying to work out what species Dean is, but also that doing so should include some degree of hands-on analysis. 

‘So why are you a waste of a human?’

‘Oh, lots of reasons?’ Dean says, questioning himself.

Cas just laughs, ‘no, why right now, in particular. Did you lose something?’ Cas gestures at the contents of Dean’s bag, strewn across the desk. 

‘Uh, besides my mind?’

‘Yes,’ Cas laughs again, ‘besides that.’ Dean is really on fire today. If only he could grasp at a modicum of the cool he usually displays in situations like this. Not that he’s ever been in a situation like this. But usually he has game. Right now he just has, well, bluster. 

‘My pen. All my pen’s actually, it seems like.’

‘Well I have a spare in here…’ Cas says, and Dean notices for the first time that he is holding a folder full of notes and a small pencil case in one hand.

‘Oh,’ Dean says, ‘Oh, you go here?’

‘Yeah, I’m just about done with my cert-two in baking and pastry.’ He tilts the folder slightly to demonstrate it to Dean as he offers him a black ballpoint with the other hand. 

‘I’m doing high value manufacturing.’ Dean gives the information without prompting, and hopes he doesn’t seem like an absolute douche-bag.

‘Wow, that sounds impressive.’ Cas raises his eyebrows. It’s really not, as far as Dean’s aware.

‘Nah, I just like building things, you know?’ Dean, Dean. Could you sound more like a caveman?

‘I’m more into baking,’ Cas says easily and Dean can almost smell cinnamon and vanilla in the air around him, it’s comforting. Which is probably what prompts him to follow with:

‘Well, I’m into eating, so...’ Cas lets his laughter escape as a sharp exhale and tilts his head back, exposing the long, lean line of his neck and Dean has to close his eyes for a second, before he embarrasses himself. 

‘I would very much like to feed you, Dean.’ Cas says, and his voice has dropped low and inviting and his body steps closer to Dean, almost pressing him up against the corrall. 

‘Oh I don’t… I mean I’m not sure…’ Dean desperately tries to find the right words, ‘I think I’d like that actually,’ is what eventually comes out, and Dean is almost as surprised as Cas.

‘You would?’ Cas smiles a little lopsided smile that carries so much feeling Dean can’t and won’t attempt to talk himself out of it now.

‘Well it’s not very often a real live chef offers to feed me so, I’m gonna stick with yes, if you don’t mind.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Cas says, eyes glinting, grinning widely. ‘I don’t mind at all.’

 

It’s not until after Cas has excused himself (‘really needing to finish this assignment,’ he had said), that Dean thinks about the immediate implications of their discussion. He is now in possession of a tangible piece of Cas (Castiel, actually, Cas is just a nickname, he had said) - nevermind that it’s just a pen - and will have to see him again to give it back. He had flirted, pretty badly, but brazenly, with a guy. A guy who inspired the kind of heated feeling in his chest that his friends usually spouted about their very pretty waitress at the Roadhouse (Jo allowed them to tip her outrageously but found ever new and inventive ways to express a zero percent chance of getting in her pants). A guy who had quite suggestively offered to cook for him (well,  _ feed _ him, technically) but then rushed away to work on his assignment, under the reproachful eye of the campus Librarian. Dean puts his head in his hands under the guise of studying for his final and thinks desperately about how he is going to explain this to everyone. Probably, most especially, to his father. Maybe he needs to start smaller. Maybe he needs a guinea pig. He slides his phone out of his pocket and types out a text to Lisa.

**Dean** : you free for a chat?

**Lisa** : When now?

**Dean** : or like 20 min? coffee?

**Lisa** : Ur lucky im on campus. see u at the cart in 20.

**Dean** : i owe u

**Lisa** : nah call it even. ttys.

He’s cramming fifteen minutes of intense study of petro-physics when a khaki clad hip settles in his line of sight. Dean looks up into the smiling face of Castiel and his breath hitches at how beautiful he is.

‘You might need this,’ he says quietly, placing a folded up piece of paper onto Dean’s open textbook and walking away, backwards, eyes not leaving Dean’s until he’s back at his own desk. It’s, graceful and smooth and  _ so damn hot _ , Dean can’t look away. Until he remembers that he’s meant to go meet Lisa and hastily packs his bag, throwing in Cas’ pen and slipping the note into his pocket. He opens it up to read it as he races to their favourite Campus coffee cart. 

 

Castiel Novak - 281-509-6995

Call me, I promise my cooking will ruin you for all other food.

 

‘Holy shit.’ Dean huffs under his breath. He is possibly in way over his head. He folds it back up and tucks it safely in his pocket. The neat, loopy letters are oddly charming and Dean has the vague sense to keep it on his desk somewhere when he gets back to the house. 

‘Dean! Dude!’ Lisa’s call breaks him out of his wandering and he catches up to her just as she’s ordered for both of them. ‘I got your americano.’ Dean nods and goes to hand over some cash. ‘Don’t stress, Dean, this one's on me.’

‘Thanks.’

‘So what’s up? You okay?’ Lisa questions him softly. Sensing that maybe he has something serious he wants to talk to her about. Which is fair, this is probably the first time since their breakup that Dean has actually asked to talk to her about anything. 

‘Yeah, I guess,’ he starts awkwardly, ‘I just sort of wanted to run something by you.’ He wipes his sweaty palms down the legs of his pants and suddenly realises what he’s been wearing this whole time. ‘Oh, god!’

‘What?’ Lisa goes from curious to worried at Dean’s outburst.

‘I just realised what I look like!’ He says shamefully.

‘Dean, what the fuck? This is how you’ve dressed like, basically, the whole time I’ve known you.’ Dean looks down at his navy weatherford pants, ripped and grease stained from hours spent under the body of a car, and the worn flannel over a grey wife beater, mentally comparing his general dishevelment to Cas’ crisp, clean, surf fashion. 

‘Lisa, I look like a fucking, broke-ass redneck.’ he sighs tragically.

‘Well, you know, it sort of works for you, dude.’ she gives him a congenial pat on the shoulder.

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘What is all this about anyway? You just meet the girl of your dreams or something?’

‘Or something. Definitely.’

‘Care to elaborate?’

‘So, I guess…’ He has to just say it. ‘Do you think I could be gay?’ he blurts out. Lisa, after initially raising her eyebrows in surprise, seems to contemplate the question.

‘Well, theoretically, it’s possible.’ Lisa takes a minute to form her next thought carefully. ‘Do  _ you _ think you could be gay?’ Dean swallows his nerves.

‘Well, there’s this guy…’ He says shakily.

‘Go on,’ she prompts.

‘And he makes me feel kind of… ‘

‘Kind of… what?’

‘Like I can’t not stare at his arms and his neck and he has this hair, and this voice and I feel sort of dizzy and warm and weird. Has that ever happened to you?’ He’s aware that he’s babbling, but he can’t seem to stop the words from just spilling out.

‘I’m familiar with that feeling, yes…’ She replies tentatively. Her expression has taken on a vaguely bewildered undertone. ‘It sounds like you’re attracted to him. I mean, like you like him.’

‘Yeah.’ He sighs again. She takes another minute to think before speaking again.

‘Has this ever happened before?’

‘No. Never.’ That’s one thing Dean is sure of. 

‘With a guy, you mean?’

‘With anyone.’ At that declaration Lisa’s eyebrows just about shoot off her face.

‘No girls, no guys? No one?’ Dean shakes his head, no. ‘Not even me?’ He keeps shaking. ‘Fuck,’ she says, taking their coffee from the barista with a perfunctory ‘thanks’. ‘That explains a lot actually.’

‘It does?’

‘Yeah, I mean, we always got along, but you seemed vaguely disinterested. Just, in anything sort of intimate really.’

‘Lisa, we had sex all the time.’

‘Yeah, but it was like, just a bit clinical you know. It was like, okay time to get each other off, okay done, okay sleep now.’ Dean feels a little bit sick at the accuracy of that description. ‘I mean, it wasn’t bad, it was just like, there was no cuddling, or heavy makeout sessions, or nervous exploration.’ Dean must look as green as he feels. ‘It’s okay,’ She tries to reassure him, ‘It just felt a bit like you didn’t really want me… I guess it’s ‘cause you didn’t, huh?’ Which is not reassuring at all. 

 

Dean leaves the conversation feeling more discombobulated than ever. But he’s sure now of one thing. If Cas is the only person he’s ever been attracted to, he is determined to see how far it can go. He programs the contact into his phone and types out a text.

**Dean:** hey this is dean

**Dean:** dean winchester

**Dean** : sorry about my clothes today - i came to the library straight from work. i wasnt really thinking i would be trying to impress anyone today.

Dean types out as much of an explanation as he thinks might be endearing, without seeming too forward. Two texts come back almost immediately. 

**Cas** : Don’t apologise, Dean Winchester, you looked very rugged. 

**Cas** : What do you do?

Dean texts back with nervous fingers.

**Dean** : i work at my uncle’s garage. i’m a mechanic.

The reply, again, is instant. Dean nearly spit-takes his coffee as he reads it.

**Cas** : Oh, Dean. You are going to be a handful.

He’s not really sure how to respond to that.

**Dean** : sorry, i guess?

**Cas** : No, no. Don’t be. I’m looking forward to it. ;)

The totally unfamiliar, crazy, excited bubbling in his chest is quietly terrifying. He pockets his phone and gulps down his coffee, not at all ready to head back home. He is in so much trouble. 


	3. Chapter Three

#  Chapter Three:

Dean shuffles around the kitchen getting dinner prepared for himself, Sam and their dad, while Sam pours over his AP homework, tugging at his too long hair and sighing every five pages or so. Their Dad is somewhere in the house, stomping around and attempting to get ready for his late shift at the station. 

‘Dean!’ Sam and Dean look up and to each other at the sharpness in their father’s tone. ‘Where the fuck is my wallet?’ Sam rolls his eyes as Dean wipes his hands and goes to find his Dad.

‘Have you checked on the floor in the bathroom?’ Dean calls out, making his way to the master bedroom at the back of their three bedroom house. 

‘Why would it be in the fuckin’ bathroom?’ He can hear his dad grumbling, and the sound of clothes being tossed around on the tiled floor, and then an, ‘oh, right,’ which means the wallet has fallen out of the pocket of his Dad’s clothes from the night before.

‘Got em?’ He asks, poised to turn back before he actually gets to the bathroom.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Is the reluctant response. Dean turns all the way around and hurries back to the kitchen to get the pasta into the boiling water on the stove. Sam mumbles incoherently as he continues to yank at his hair and sigh over the ridiculously complicated Chemistry text book on the counter.

‘Why the hell are all my clothes still on the floor in there anyway?’ His Dad complains, coming into the Kitchen to grab a coke out of the fridge and lean against the counter. Dean gives his father an exasperated look while Sam rips his head away from his homework to spit back,

‘Because you left them there when you got home wasted last night.’ Dean winces at both the words and the responding look of fury on his dad’s face.

‘You,’ he nearly shouts, pointing his finger in Sam’s face, ‘fucking, ungrateful!’ Sam just scoffs at the words like he’s totally bored by their father’s tirade, and to be honest, it’s not like they haven’t heard it all before. 

‘Dad,’ Dean says, trying to interject, ‘dad!’ he raises his voice to be heard over the shouting. ‘Can you both give it a rest, for one fucking day!’ He finally shouts back. ‘You’re both driving me fucking insane!’ Both Sam and their dad have shut up and turned to stare at Dean. He doesn’t very often raise his voice to anyone and almost never to his dad. ‘Can you just sit down and talk to each other like you actually give a shit.’ They are just looking at him now with matching dumbfounded expressions. Dean’s pretty sure that no one in this house has ever talked about their ‘feelings’, and this is getting dangerously close. ‘Dinner is gonna be ready in ten minutes. Just calm the fuck down so I can get it served, we can eat and then you can leave each other the fuck alone.’ Dean turns back to the stove and pointedly ignores either of his family members potential rebuttals. His back is greeted with a stunned silence. When he chances to glance back at them, they are looking awkwardly at each other at then at Dean and then back to each other, like they can’t figure out how to proceed. Dean just slides the newspaper that’s sitting folded on the counter, over to his father and then turns back to his sauce. 

Ten minutes later, dinner is being dished up with everyone silent and still unsure how to break the awkward tension. It’s once they’re sitting at the table, eating (shoveling) and ignoring each other that Dean’s text notification sounds from his pocket. Glad for any distraction from the super weird dinner atmosphere, he grabs his phone and opens the text. It’s from Cas.

**Cas:** Good evening, Dean. In something of a reconnaissance mission, I'm attempting to find out what your favourite dessert is…

Dean smiles down at his phone and types out a response. 

**Dean:** thats some stealthy recon cas, just flat out asking. but Pie. Pie is my favourite. 

 

‘New girl, huh?’ His Dad says out of nowhere. Dean and Sam look to him for clarification, or at least some context. ‘Your message there,’ he explains, ‘has you looking a touch lovestruck, son.’ 

‘It's nothing.’ Dean says, taking time to think before he speaks. Explaining any of this to his family is going to require some delicacy. Potentially more than he’s capable of affecting right now. ‘Someone I just met. I'm not sure about it yet.’

‘You look pretty sure.’ Sam pipes in. And fuck him for deciding now was a good time to start talking to Dean again.

‘Fuck off.’

‘Dean, don't speak to him like that.’ Their dad warns. Dean wants to bitch back that he and Sam speak to each other like that all the time, but chooses not to. He sighs in exasperation. 

‘Can we not talk about this please?’ he asks instead. And miraculously they both agree. 

 

His dad is still reading the paper, Sam is trawling through whatever social media account he has that half the time looks like porn. Dean is just focusing on eating as quickly as possible so he can get to his room and disappear.

‘They’re putting those queer flags up downtown this year.’ Their dad up and says, out of nowhere.

‘What?’ Dean almost loses his half chewed spaghetti when he looks up quickly, mouth hanging open. Suddenly his food feels like a lead weight in his stomach.

‘Yeah you know, for Pride or whatever you call it. Next month.’ Both Sam and Dean are just staring now. ‘What? I think it’s good! People around here are finally starting to open their minds a bit,’ he laughs at their expressions. ‘The new guy at the station’s been trying to get us all signed up for a float in the parade.’

‘What!’ both boys exclaim, floored by this turn in the conversation. Their father, John Winchester, manliest man’s man to ever walk the planet, is excited about the prospect of downtown Houston sporting gay pride flags and potentially joining a float in the parade with a bunch of his paramedic crew members? The joint looks on their faces must be priceless, as John drops his fork into his empty plate.

‘When did you two get so conservative?’ He asks, sceptical at their combined speechlessness. 

‘Since when are you not?’ Sam is the first to pipe up. John just shakes his head, presumably resigned to his boys obliviousness. 

‘You know your uncle Bobby is my best friend right?’ To which the boys nod, because, duh, he’s only been in their lives since they were born. Was there for them after their mom passed away. Taught Dean to basically build his own car from the ground up.

‘Yeah, dad,’ Dean says, more to keep the conversation moving than to actually answer what he assumes was a rhetorical question.

‘And he and Rufus were living together for years?’ John raises his eyebrows as if to challenge that they knew this. Yes they knew that, but well, Dean certainly hadn’t  _ known that. _

‘Yeah, but... Really?’ Dean was in fact struggling to remember all the moments he had spent in Bobby and Rufus’ company, never once suspecting that they were more than best friends. And, like, Bobby had been married to his wife for years before she died. It just never clicked.

‘Huh,’ is all that Sam has to add to the conversation. Like  _ oh right, I can see that being a thing that happened. _ And also that he gives not one fuck that their pseudo uncle was probably bisexual and almost surely having sex with a guy for nearly as long as they had known him.

It’s as much Sam’s reaction as anything that allows Dean to gather his courage. 

‘So’ he coughs, ‘the ah, the someone texting me, is like, a guy.’ He says as quickly as possible, forgetting to breathe. John just looks at him for a minute. 

‘And this is new, you said?’ He looks interested, wary perhaps, but not in any way angry.

‘Yeah, very new. Um... different.’

‘But you’re happy?’ John asks, ‘about this someone?’ Dean shrugs, but it must be obvious from his stupid, traitorous face that he is, at least, happy adjacent. 

‘Well, maybe when it’s not so new, you can bring him round. Introduce him or something.’

‘Yeah okay.’ Dean says, trying to hide his smile behind a mouthful of pasta. ‘Maybe.’

‘I guess maybe’s as good as it gets around here.’ His dad says. ‘I gotta get to work. Ambulance doesn’t drive itself.’ The boys both nod at their Dad until he turns back at Sam and says, ‘You. Do your homework.’ To which Sam bristles immediately.

‘Seriously?’ Their Dad leaves and Sam looks to Dean and says, ‘Why does he hate me so much?’

‘He loves you,’ Dean says quietly, ‘That’s his way of showing it.’

‘He never says that shit to you!’ Sam is ignorantly incensed.

‘No,’ Dean agrees sadly, ‘he never does.’

‘Because he trusts you!’ Sam argues, losing some of his rancour at Dean’s tone. 

‘No,’ Dean shakes his head, ‘because he never thought it would matter.’ He finishes, leaving Sam at the dinner table. ‘You can clean up.’ He says and escapes to his bedroom. 

 

Alone again, he checks his phone and finds a message waiting for him.

**Cas:** So, I’m getting a strong sense that Pie is very important to you…

**Dean:** what gave me away detective?

**Cas:** Well it’s the only word you’ve used so far with a capital. Twice, I might add. 

**Dean:** you've got me there. 

**Dean:** i only ask that you use this information wisely.

Ha! See, Dean can be clever. Maybe not face to face clever, but he can be cool via technology. 

**Cas:** Trust me, Dean. I have big plans for the very wise use of this information. 

Dean is aware that he’s blushing from his hairline, right down to his little toes. He is so, so glad that no one can see him right now. There is also an uncomfortable heat pooling in his groin at the sudden influx of imagery that comes with Cas’ text. 

‘Wow.’ He whispers, breathless, sinking down to sit on the end of his bed. This is a singularly unfamiliar feeling. Dean is no stranger to sex. He and Lisa, he and his highschool girlfriend, a few girls in between. So, he’s had probably more than an average amount for a guy his age. But he has never felt this pull, this nervous energy under his skin. Just the idea of Cas wanting him in that way (and with Pie. Pie! What more evidence is necessary to declare him Dean’s personal brand of kryptonite) has Dean working to hold himself back from palming at his growing erection. He is startled back to reality by the vibration of his phone.

**Cas:** Sorry, was that a bit too much? I can be a bit much sometimes.

**Cas:** I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…

Dean laughs at the accidental accuracy of Cas’ message. He is definitely uncomfortable right now. But he’s quick to reply, 

**Dean:** it wasn’t too much, don’t worry. i mean, i am a bit uncomfortable atm. but not in a bad way…

Dean watches the ellipses dance across his screen while he waits for Cas to respond. He fidgets with the hem of his undershirt hoping the message wasn’t too forward.

**Cas:** Do you have plans for Thursday night? I’ve got work Friday, and I don’t want to have to wait any longer than that to see you again. 

Dean throws himself back onto the bed as he reads the text. Thursday is three days away. He’s not sure if that’s too soon or gives him too much time to lose his nerve. But he knows the anxiousness in his blood means he doesn’t want to wait either. He holds the phone up over his face and types back.

**Dean:** i can be free. 

 

They text back and forth and make plans for Dean to meet Cas at his apartment for dinner. It feels like a bit of a risk, and he knows for sure he isn’t ready to do anything crazy with a guy he barely knows. But he also can’t help the excitement from bubbling up and stretching a grin across his cheeks. When he ventures back down to get a hot chocolate and cookies before crawling into bed and finishing his study, Sam is at the table, still pouring over his books.

‘You should take a break, kid.’ he says, heating up the milk in the microwave. He’s got two mugs, because he knows that Sam won’t ask for one, but will drink it if he makes it. His brother just grunts in response. He thinks about letting it go, but then decides he doesn’t really have a lot of other people to talk this out with. ‘You don't think it's weird? He asks Sam ‘that I'm dating a guy?

Sam seems as if he’s going to ignore him and then puts a marker in his page and closes the hard cover. ‘I guess a little?’ He says finally. ‘But not ‘cause I care, like, that you might be into guys.’ He squints and wrinkles his nose, which is Sam’s  _ thinking _ face. ‘More because you just never seemed interested before.’ 

‘I haven't been.’ Dean says back, making his own thinking face. ‘I have a feeling my interest is kind of specific to this guy…’ Sam nods, as if this is a perfectly acceptable answer.

‘That's cool I guess.’ he shrugs, opening his book back up again. ‘Just be careful okay?’

‘I will.’ Dean says, touched by the platitude. ‘Going to try to take it slow this time.’

‘Wow. He really is different, huh?’ and Sam has to duck the cookie that goes flying at his head.

 

Two hours later, Dean is putting away his books, teeth clean, hair washed and pyjamas on when he gets another text notification. He opens it and has to sit down immediately. Cas has sent a picture message, and it’s the most perfect, lattice topped cherry pie that Dean has ever seen. He would think it’s a screenshot from a baking blog, except Cas must have a mirrored splashback in his kitchen because he can see the reflection of Cas’ torso, hips to shoulders, still dressed in the tank and khaki shorts from the library (only slightly floured) behind the vision that is the cherry pie, front and centre.

**Cas:** Sweet dreams, Dean.

Dean is  _ definitely _ in over his head.


	4. Chapter Four

#  Chapter Four:

Dean makes it to Castiel’s building just as he is turning up himself, from what appears to have been a trip to the grocery store. He looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine, loose fitting but tapered tan pants and a sleeveless printed T-shirt, dark with an almost floral pattern. It’s an outfit Dean isn’t sure he could ever be brave enough to wear, and it subsequently makes Cas seem full of the kind of self confidence and self awareness that Dean has always envied. It’s incredibly attractive. Dean himself had decided that being comfortable was probably just as important as making a good impression (pretty sure he’s done that already anyway), so he’s in dark jeans, slightly ripped (from wear, but it’s fashionable now, so he allows it) and a grey, almost blue henley that sits tight across his chest and arms but loose over his toned waist. Sam had actually approved the outfit from his permanent spot at the kitchen counter as Dean left the house, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up before cackling into his coffee. When Dean had threatened his text books for an explanation, Sam spilled that he was just surprised to see Dean making an effort. ‘I have never seen you whipped like this, Dean,’ were his exact words. Sam was definitely not laughing by the time Dean left the house. 

 

Cas approaches the car as Dean locks it behind him. ‘Dean, is this your car?’ Cas says, looking a little mesmerized.

‘Yeah,’ he says proudly, ‘this is my baby.’ Cas raises his eyebrow at the name. ‘I built her from scratch pretty much.’ He says and preens at the look of admiration Cas is giving him now. 

‘May I?’ he asks, circling the black 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

‘Yeah, knock yourself out,’ Dean says. And he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything sexier than Cas with his hand gently stroking his baby’s flawlessly polished bonnet. He has to swallow down the excess saliva that’s pooling under his tongue before he starts drooling. Cas looks over to Dean and something must show in his face or posture, because he is grinning like he just  _ knows _ what this is doing to Dean. Dean coughs into his fist and then shoves both hands into his pockets, bouncing a little on his heels nervously. Cas takes pity on him, walking back around to Dean’s side of the car, picking up the bags he had temporarily abandoned and gestures for Dean to follow him into the building. 

‘Can I take one of your bags, Cas?’ Dean asks. They look heavy.

‘Thank you, Dean,’ Cas agrees thankfully, handing one over to Dean awkwardly as they try to navigate their way into the elevator. ‘A gentleman huh?’ he says to himself, chuckling. 

‘Not usually.’ He says without thinking. ‘I mean! Uh, that came out wrong.’ Dean, mortified, physically facepalms with his unoccupied hand. ‘I mostly just meant that I’m trying to make a good impression.’ Dean is just shaking his head at himself. What is it about Cas that totally jams up his brain-to-mouth filter? Cas turns to look at him in the mirrored space. 

‘You’re trying to impress me?’ he asks, something soft in his inflection. 

‘Well, yeah, I mean. Obviously…’

‘I appreciate the sentiment, Dean, but it's honestly unnecessary.’ Cas looks a little embarrassed at himself after that, like he should be holding his cards closer to his chest or something. But Dean smiles at the idea that Cas might be just as nervous as Dean is, and perhaps also just as invested. It lightens a pressure in him to know that, it’s comforting. 

‘Already impressed you, have I?.’ Dean asks, laughing at the mock frown that Cas makes in response. 

‘I take it back,’ Cas says teasing, ‘you can make sure and be on your best behaviour, thank you.’ Dean laughs and nods his head, encouraging Cas to keep walking as they escape the elevator and following him into the apartment once they reach it. 

 

Dean hadn’t been paying that much attention to the apartment complex more than a passing thought that it had looked pretty swanky for a college student. And the lobby had seemed very open and bright, but, Dean had had his eyes fixed pretty keenly on Castiel’s assets as he trailed behind him. Now that they’re walking into Cas’ place, he is genuinely floored by how nice it is. The kitchen is huge, with a wide oven and an island bench, double fridge, chrome appliances and hardwood floors. The rest of the apartment isn’t huge, but it has beautiful fixtures and furniture and there is a balcony, that, as Cas give Dean a tour, he can see looks out over a courtyard with a giant pool. There are two bedrooms and a main bathroom and an ensuite, the shower of which is almost bigger than Dean’s whole bathroom at home. Something of Dean’s shock must show on his face.

‘My parents pay for it.’ Cas says, by way of explanation. ‘They promised to pay for my rent while I studied, which was great while I was at UH. They’re not so happy about it now that I’m at HCC.’ He looks a bit abashed at that statement, but Dean is still coming to terms with the opulence of the apartment and the fact that at one time Cas was a student at the University. ‘Come on,’ he says, placing his hand at the small of Dean’s back and directing him back to the kitchen where they had left their bags. ‘You can watch me while I cook dinner.’ And intentionally or not, Cas’ words have redirected Dean’s attention to the weight of his hand on Dean and the image of Cas feeding him, just as he’d promised. And now Dean is flustered for a whole different set of reasons. 

 

Cas makes a spectacular dish. Some kind of French chicken and mushroom thing with lots of wine and the creamiest mashed potatoes that Dean has ever, ever eaten (who knew you were meant to sieve the potato?). When Cas offers Dean a glass of the wine with dinner he has to confess that he isn’t yet legally allowed to drink it. Cas tsks and declares he’s plenty old enough to have a glass with dinner, but that he has beer or cider if the wine doesn’t suit. Dean accepts a beer and marvels at how much nicer it is than the beer that Dean periodically steals from his dad’s fridge or drinks with Benny when he gets dragged out. They eat on the couch, the Television on in the background but Dean couldn’t tell you what was playing. His eyes never leave Cas, every mouthful drawing his attention to his full, pink lips, every laugh, head thrown back, pulling Dean’s eyes to the smooth, curve where his neck meets his shoulders. The food is delicious, but Dean barely even tastes it, his thoughts so consumed by the sight and sound of the man sitting next to him. Cas eventually has to get up to take the pie out of the oven and leave it to cool on the counter. Dean follows him to the kitchen where the smell of the pastry and the sugary apple and cinnamon is amazing. Dean wonders if Cas will be cooking in a professional kitchen soon, now that he’s almost finished his certificate.

‘When you graduate will you still be working on the food truck? Like, do you own it with that guy-’

‘-Gabriel.’

‘-right, Gabriel. Do you guys own it, or is it just a temporary thing?’

‘Oh, Gabe owns it, I’m just helping him out and saving what I can, getting good experience while I do.’

‘What do you really want to do?’ Dean asks. Partly because he wants to know, partly because he just likes to hear Cas talk.

‘I’d like to open up my own patisserie.’ He says, turned inwards slightly to face Dean, crossing his arms and mirroring his position. ‘Maybe offer one different lunch special every day - but just one, and always a french dish.’

‘You like french then, like, that’s your specialty?’

‘Yes, well I mean, it’s what I did, before I decided to become a pastry chef. I got my BA in French at University and then spent some time in France as a translator.’ Dean makes what he swears is not a squeak, but a very masculine exclamation of surprise. 

‘You speak french?’

‘ _ Oui, je le parle couramment _ ’ Cas says, in this voice, well, Dean suddenly understands what it means to be made weak at the knees. Cas wiggles his eyebrow like he can see exactly what that sentence just did to Dean’s insides. ‘ _ Oh, vous aimez ça?’  _ he continues, grinning all the while and looking like a cat with a mouse in his paw. 

‘Oh wow.’ Dean says, exhaling slowly with one long breath out and then biting his lip as he drags the air back in through his teeth. Cas’ eyes have gone from bright blue to something dark and dangerous. His pupils are blown and he’s looking up at Dean through his ridiculously long, dark eyelashes. Dean hadn’t really noticed that Cas was actually just a few inches shorter than him, enough that it meant, as he glided ever closer to Dean, the fingers of one hand trailing the kitchen bench that Dean is leaning against, he was tilting his face upwards to keep a hold of Dean’s eyes. 

Cas reaches out with one hand to rest it against Dean’s chest. ‘ _ Tu es tellement magnifique. _ ’ Somehow his tone is even deeper and richer, the words wrapping around Dean and warming his blood so that his whole body feels hot and tense. 

‘It’s so not fair that I can’t understand what you’re saying, man.’ Dean whispers, hardly says the words really, they’re basically just an exhalation of his unsteady breath. 

‘I think you’re beautiful, Dean.’ Dean just blinks slowly in the face of Cas’ attention, ‘can I kiss you?’ he asks and Dean can only nod in response, frozen as he is in this moment. So unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Overwhelmed, delirious, turned on for sure and somehow so conscious of every touch of Cas fingers to his cloth covered skin, the warmth of Cas’ breath on his lips where they hover so close but still separate, and the heat and electricity in Cas’ beautiful eyes, charged and sparking with expectation. And then his whole world shifts, the floor dissapears and the room tilts and his heart stops. Cas has pressed his lips against Dean’s, with a gentle pressure that Dean opens to without hesitation, the softest press of his tongue against Dean’s top lip, the capture and pull of that top lip between both of Cas’s lips, the barest hint of teeth nipping at his flesh. It pushes Dean to press back, to deepen every sensation, to use his own lips to pull back at Cas’ lips, to slide his tongue so slightly along Cas’ tongue, to grip at Cas’ hips with his own hands and pull him closer, desperate to feel as much of Cas against him as he can. They break apart (Dean couldn’t tell you how much time has passed at this point) and Dean is panting with the effort of desire making its way through his whole body. Cas seems similarly affected. 

‘Cas.’ Dean whispers, finally opening his eyes again to find Cas staring at him.

‘Are you okay?’ Cas whispers back, head tilted at him and small smile tugging at just one corner of his mouth. Dean just smiles in response. It’s the kind of smile that Dean doesn’t remember having ever actually smiled before. It’s warm and soft and joyful. And it might be a result of the kiss, his first kiss really, because after that he can't fairly call anything he has done before a kiss. Or it might just be the look on Castiel’s face, like this is almost new for him too. It might even just be the smell of the apple pie cooling on Cas’ bench, made especially for Dean, with nothing but his express enjoyment in mind. More than likely it's a culmination of all of these things. And Dean realises that this is it. This is what happiness feels like. And it’s so good, it’s so so good, that he laughs and leans back in to kiss Cas again, just to chase it, this happiness, for as long and as far as he can. 

 

By the time Dean has climbed back into his baby, winding down the windows to drive with the late spring wind spinning its way through the car, his lips are wet and swollen, his cheeks are pink, his eyes are alight and his belly is full of good food and, frankly, fucking amazing pie. Before he takes off, he types a message quickly into his phone. 

**Dean:** so when do i get Pie #2?

**Cas:** Come back in, Dean, I’ll make it right now ;) ♥

**Dean:** cute. don’t tempt me.

**Cas:** How about Monday? You free? 

**Dean:** for you, i can make it work.

**Cas:** I’m blushing, Dean. Monday night. I’ll take you somewhere.

**Dean:** thanks for tonite Cas. i had fun. i’ll see you monday.

Dean watches as Cas types out, then deletes, then types out another message. 

**Cas:** Dean. Thank you, I had fun too. Can’t wait for monday.

He wonders what it was that Cas had typed first and doesn’t realise until later, re-reading the message thread as he lies in bed, that he’d used a capital for Cas’ name. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations are basically:  
> Yes, I speak it fluently  
> Oh, you like this?  
> You are so gorgeous


	5. Chapter Five

Tonight, Cas is picking him up from the house for date number four. Date number two had been weirdly romantic. Weird mostly because Dean isn’t used to actually liking anything romantic, but had liked every minute of sitting opposite Cas in that French restaurant. They ate their way through five small courses because Cas was friends with the sous-chef and was trialling the new dishes being added to the menu next month (‘they use seasonal produce, Dean’ Cas had said by way of explanation, and Dean had been confused, because isn’t all produce seasonal?) Cas had explained all the different dishes as they came, what he thought made them good, how he thought they might be improved, why he felt the tarte tatin was perfect and should be cherished (‘they didn’t put any pastry on top, Cas...how could it be perfect?’ Dean had argued) and they had kissed and kissed in the front seat of baby when Dean had dropped Cas back at his apartment. 

 

Date number three had been a bit more casual, just the two of them going to see a movie (Wonder Woman, because Dean loves (well, Marvel usually, but DC has it's moments) and Cas was intrigued by the ‘intense feminist narrative’ that surrounded it). It was equal parts frustrating and amazing, because Cas had loved the movie but Dean spent the entire two hours desperately holding himself back from running his hand up the leg of Cas’ short, beige, boat shorts. He knows now that Cas runs everyday (‘to counteract the butter, Dean. So much butter’) and his thighs in those shorts should be illegal. The long sleeved denim button down he had open half way down his chest was similarly driving Dean insane. He had spent literally the length of the movie with a painful erection, a feeling to which he was, in fact, wholly unfamiliar. Cas had of course noticed (Dean in his ripped dark jeans and a heather grey Zepplin tee, that was probably a size too small to be honest, didn’t have much hope of hiding the bulge in his lap) but not until they were about to get up to leave the theatre and the lights had come on. He had looked over at Dean with a mixture of sympathy, amusement and desire, which did absolutely nothing to help his situation. Cas had invited him upstairs after the movie and that night was the first time Dean had ever come in his pants. The friction of Cas rolling his hips up into Dean’s, and the quiet moans of contentment in Cas’ throat as Dean moved an open mouth down his neck and into the glorious curve of his shoulder had been Dean’s eventual undoing. 

 

So tonight offers a curious cocktail of expectation and excitement for Dean. Sam and John are home when Cas arrives to collect him buzzing with nervous energy. 

‘Wow,’ Is the first thing Cas says when Dean opens the door, ‘ _ tu as l'air sensass _ ’. Dean looks down at his black skinny jeans, white crew neck t-shirt and an olive green bomber jacket. Lisa had talked him into the outfit when he had called her with a wardrobe SOS. Made a nice little dent in his savings (even though the t shirt was from the gap and the jacket was second hand) which he was still feeling guilty about. She let him get away with his old lace up boots, only because they were old enough to look hipster chic (whatever the fuck hipster chic is…) and he refused to spend any more money. 

 

Dean hasn’t quite found words, because Cas is standing on his doorstep in an almost completely open white button down, tucked into fitted, light grey pinstriped slacks, cuffed at the ankle with white adidas sneakers. His hair is slicked back and he looks so good Dean can’t breathe. 

‘Pick that jaw up off the floor, son.’ His dad says, mortifying Dean as he makes his way to the door to see who’s waiting there. He can hear Sam snickering from his spot on the couch, his head turned slightly in deference to the fact that he’s curious about Cas but doesn’t want anyone to know that he is (he had been quite impressed with the information that Cas had graduated University at just twenty, with a four year Arts degree, majoring in French. ‘What does he see in you?’ Sam had asked, dumbfounded). Dean just shuts his mouth (as advised) and hides his face in his hands. 

‘Ah, Cas, this is my dad,’ he says, peeking back out through his fingers, ‘Dad, this is Castiel.’

‘Nice to meet to you, Castiel.’ John says, reaching out to offer Cas his hand. Cas shakes it gratefully, looking very pleased with himself, and John and with life in general, really. 

‘You too, Mister Winchester.’ His grin is bright and brilliant. ‘Dean looks very like you.’

‘Nope, spitting image of his mother, this one.’ John says with a soft smile. ‘She was a real looker, my Mary.’ Cas’ smile softens in response and he nods a little, agreeing with the sentiment, though he has no way of knowing how true it is. Dean, for his part, just looks at his father in shock. He’s never once heard him offer information about Mary without prompt, especially not to a stranger. And, though he knows he looks like his mother (and that it’s likely why his father sometimes has trouble looking at Dean at all) John has never described that resemblance in a complementary way. ‘So where are you taking Dean tonight, Cas?’ John asks, ignoring Dean’s shock and redirecting Cas’ attention. 

‘Oh, there’s a party at Barbarella. My two best friends back there-’ he points back to the car at the curb and the two gorgeous redheads currently residing within (who wave and giggle as John looks over), ‘-well they’re determined to get Dean’s feet wet in the queer scene. So to speak.’ He smiles ruefully to undercut the potential inappropriateness of that statement. 

‘Mm hmm. Well you just make sure he doesn’t drown okay, Castiel? Dean never was much of a swimmer.’

‘Dad!’ Dean objects, mortified once again by a dad joke. Sam is outright laughing now and Cas waves over to him without bothering to make any kind of introduction (he must be familiar with teenagers and their lack of social grace).

‘We better get going Dean, the girls are waiting.’ Cas says, politely excusing himself and Dean from John’s company and pulling Dean down to the waiting car by his hand. The girls, Anna and Charlie, welcome Dean gleefully, introducing themselves as Cas’ greatest and oldest friends (‘we knew him when he was just a tiny, little, chubby twelve year old. Oh, Dean, he was so cute and awkward’) and show off the brand new engagement ring that Anna is sporting after Charlie had proposed just a week ago. They are full of life and laughter and reveal story after story about Cas over the years. It lights up a space within Dean’s chest, and he feels content, sitting in the backseat with Cas’ hand in his hand, fingers entwined, knees resting against each other. He takes a selfie with Cas, the girls in the background, and sends the photo to Lisa with a ‘this is what you’re missing’ caption. She sends back a string of emoji’s including a heart, a happy face and an angry face and then another text to say that she hopes she’ll be invited next time.

‘Of course!’ Charlie shouts from the driver’s seat as Dean reads it to Cas. ‘The more the merrier!’ and Dean has no doubt that she is one hundred percent serious. 

 

The club is dark, the music loud and Dean has to wear a wristband that shows he’s not twenty one and therefore can’t be served alcohol. He’s not aware whether he would get in under normal circumstances, but the girls have tickets to whatever the event is there tonight and so he shuffles in with the others and feels the vibrations reverberate through him intensely. It’s different, so different from any bar or pub that he’s ever been taken to before that Dean can’t reconcile the experiences. But the feel of Cas dancing tucked up close into his body, Dean’s hands possessively settled on Cas’ hips, head resting on his shoulder, Cas’ arm wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck, the other clasped tight around Dean’s hands, it’s heady and salacious and Dean is loving it. The abundance of other same sex couples on the dance floor let's Dean feel like he and Cas just blend in here, as if they belong here amongst everyone, and Charlie and Anna, similarly entwined, look over at them every few minutes and smile, laughing at how ‘cute’ they are and that the club should be using their photo as promotional material, they look so perfect together. Cas takes a few selfies of his own, playing around with them and posting one on instagram while they take a moment to breathe off the dance floor and drink soda with little lime wedges and pink umbrella’s. 

‘Are you having fun?’ Cas asks as Dean sits back with his head against the wall behind him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers with a smile. ‘The girls are great.’ He adds, gesturing to Anna and Charlie still tearing it up in the throng of the crowd. ‘How long have they been together?’

‘Basically forever.’ Cas answers. ‘They kept it a secret for a while, but I’m pretty sure they were each other's first everything. I’ve certainly never seen either of them with anyone else.’

‘That must be nice.’ Dean says, thinking out loud more than anything. ‘To spend your whole life with one person.’

‘You think so?’ Cas is looking at him with a strange intensity. 

‘Yeah? Is that wrong?’

‘I think it’s wonderful, Dean.’ Cas says softly, reaching out his hand to capture Dean’s on the table top. ‘Come on, let’s get back out there, I like this song.’ He drags Dean back out before he can protest (it would have been meaningless anyway, Dean would follow Cas anywhere at this point) and they end up with Dean wound back around him, faces pressed together, smiling like idiots. 

‘We should go. Come back with me and sleepover,’ Cas says quietly, lips pressed up against Dean’s ear..

‘You tired, Cas?’ Dean asks, surprised. It’s still pretty early.

‘No, Dean, I don’t need to  _ sleep, _ ’ Cas says pointedly. And Dean feels a rush of Blood to his face (and  _ other _ areas) at the meaning behind Cas’ proposition. 

‘Okay,’ he says with a rush of hot air, ‘okay, we should go.’

 

The whole cab ride back to Cas’ is an exercise in restraint and full of anticipation. Cas pays the driver when they arrive and he and Dean practically race through the lobby, laughing and blushing into the elevator and just holding hands while they travel to the right floor, content to wait until they can properly let go before they touch each other in any desperate capacity. 

 

Once they are behind Cas’ closed door, they throw their bodies together, catching each others mouths to taste and lick and bite with a furious energy that is completely foreign to Dean. Dean fumbles at Cas’ buttons, Cas fumbles to pull at Dean’s jacket and then t-shirt and soon they are unbuttoning each other’s pants and stepping (jumping) out of them, throwing them (and their shoes) haphazardly across the space of Cas’ apartment. Cas walks Dean backwards toward his bedroom, never once letting his lips leave Dean’s, his hands clinging to Dean’s waist. Dean allows himself to be led, for the most part. But when they fall back onto the bed together, Dean takes the opportunity to climb over Cas. He understands what Lisa meant now when she said he had never wanted to explore. Because that’s all he can think of right now, exploring every inch of Cas, from his ears to his collarbone, his chest, his hips, the trail of dark hair from his belly button to his groin. He uses his lips and his tongue to trace all the pieces of Cas that he want’s to taste and savour. His want is a tangible thing, coaxing him to travel ever further down Cas’ body, lingering at his too beautiful thighs (Dean has been dreaming about them) and finally pulling down Cas’ boxer briefs to expose his thick, hard cock, the sight of which only intensifies everything Dean Is feeling. He licks a stripe down the vein at its underside and tastes Cas there before making his way back up to Cas’ perfect face and perfect lips, kissing him and letting him taste himself on Dean’s tongue. 

 

Cas’ hips have been rocking slightly into the air through Dean’s attentive wandering and he cards his hands through his hair, grabbing on and holding Dean to him like a lifeline. 

‘You just let me take care of you, okay?’ Cas says between kisses, and Dean nods because he wants to be taken care of. Nothing could feel better. Cas removes Dean’s underwear as he makes his way down, exploring Dean in turn. He spends a minute finding a condom and lubricant from the bedside table and places it reverently on Dean before taking his mouth to him. Cas uses the slicked up fingers of his hands to, with one, slide up and down in accompaniment to his lips on Dean’s cock, and with the other to lightly circle the rim of Dean’s hole. Slowly, his sucking and stroking become more insistent, inching his finger further and further into Dean until it too is stroking and fucking Dean, all working together like a choreographed dance. The sensations of Cas’ mouth and hand against the push and pull of his fingers has Dean overwhelmed. He can’t properly focus on any one pleasure point and soon he is thrusting forward into Cas mouth and then backwards onto his finger and every nerve in him is on fire and the pressure builds and builds inside him. Cas is moaning and every sound vibrates through Dean to add sensation on top of sensation. Cas looks up at him from beneath those lashes and Dean is so unprepared for how much he _ feels  _ just at the sight of him.

‘Oh my  _ God _ , Cas,’ Dean cries, breathless and barely audible over the sounds they are making just sliding against the sheets. Cas looks up at him again and pushes himself even further down Dean so that Dean is hitting the back of Cas’ throat and the pressure explodes and Dean is coming and coming, Cas stroking him through it. Dean lets go of his desperate hold of Cas’ hair and the bedsheets and Cas crawls up his body to straddle his waist. He stares down at Dean and strokes himself, one hand braced on Dean’s chest.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he says softly and Dean just stares back, gliding his fingers up and down Cas’ thighs until he comes all over Dean’s flushed and freckled skin. 

 

They lie together for a while, Cas curled protectively over Dean, faces pressed together, fingers linked (Cas having cleaned his mess off Dean with his own discarded underwear) and breathe together, content to stay silent and comfortable to drift in and out of sleep. Cas pulls Dean up sometime in the night to clean his teeth (they share a toothbrush, which should freak Dean out more than it does) and use the toilet. He dresses him in a pair of soft cotton shorts and tucks him back into bed, curling around him once again. After he hears Cas settle into sleep he checks his phone and sends his dad a text to let him know he’ll be home tomorrow. He clicks on his instagram notification and sees the photo of he and Cas at the club. They have their faces together, Dean wrapped around Cas from behind, and they’re not looking at the camera but at each other, drenched in mutual adoration. It’s a beautiful photo of both of them and something inside Dean just melts as he studies it. Dean likes it and saves it, posting it to his facebook with the caption  _ me and my gorgeous bf  _  before closing the ap.

‘If you’re a good boy and come back to sleep, I’ll make you crepes in the morning,’ Cas whispers from behind him, half asleep still, pulling Dean back down into his arms. Dean puts the phone down and goes willingly. He honestly can’t think of a way he would rather wake up than to Cas and his food and his smile, his voice and arms wrapped so safe and soft and warm around him.  _ This is it, _ Dean sighs, overwhelmed with happiness, _ this is what I’ve been missing. _


End file.
